


Unwanted Gifts.

by hereiwrite



Series: A Different Surprise [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Forced Prostitution, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Past Abuse, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereiwrite/pseuds/hereiwrite
Summary: Jaskier always seems to get himself in heaps of trouble. Usually he manages to wiggle his way out of things before anything too terrible happens.But all it takes is one time after all. And that one time leaves Jaskier locked in a sadistic Earl’s manor, beaten and broken until he was nothing more than a shadow of his former self. With no hope of ever seeing outside those walls again.Until a certain Witcher comes to town.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Different Surprise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596799
Comments: 177
Kudos: 1441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I write Witcher fanfic now...
> 
> The rape/non-con tag is most definitely not between Geralt and Jaskier. 
> 
> I've only seen the TV show so this is based on that with some occasional and random tidbits from wiki pages I've read and found interesting - like the fact that Jaskier is nobility... 
> 
> The rating on this may change.
> 
> I haven't completely decided yet but chances are this first story is going to be mostly hurt and no comfort. The comfort will come in following stories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier was no stranger to getting locked away; even after all this time his mouth did often run faster than his brain could keep up and his captor was no great fan of his wit, but usually the ire he caused lasted a week or two at most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what day it was. It was hard to keep track of time inside a windowless box with only sporadic food deliveries to help count the hours. For a while he had tried to keep count of how long he had been held there, assuming he got a meal of stale bread and water once a day he’d managed to get up to a fortnight. But after receiving a beating so severe he’d been knocked unconscious - for what he was sure was at least a day - he gave up on trying. He knew he had been trapped there long enough for his hair to grow up, now past his shoulders and caked with blood and dirt and _other things_ he had no desire to give much thought to.

He was sure that this was the longest he’d been locked in the cell though. Jaskier was no stranger to getting locked away; even after all this time his mouth did often run faster than his brain could keep up with and his captor was no great fan of his wit, but usually, the ire he caused lasted a week or two at most. The Earl, his _Master_ (and oh how Jaskier _loathed_ to call him that even in his head but better not to use the man’s name, even in the safety of his head, because knowing his luck Jaskier would then use it out loud. He still had, and always will, the scars from the last time he made that mistake) took too much pleasure in _playing_ Jaskier to keep him locked away for long.

So even though he didn’t know exactly how long he had been in that cell, Jaskier was not surprised when the door was pulled open and instead of a servant stepping in to deliver him food, a guard walked over and yanked him up to his feet. He did not struggle. It did no good anyway - the guards were all much stronger than Jaskier when he hadn’t been surviving only on a meagre ration of bread and water - and he had long since learned his lesson about fighting back anyway. The corridor leading away from his cell was almost as dark as the cell itself so it gave Jaskier’s eyes a bit of a chance to adjust but even with that small mercy was not enough to prepare him for just how _bright_ it was in the Great Hall.

Jaskier flinched from the bright sun streaming in through the high windows of the room, shutting his eyes tight. It wasn’t like he needed to see where he was going - the guard was dragging him along with no regard for Jaskier anyway so he’d rather try to mitigate the amount his head hurt from the shock of the bright light. He was dragged across the cold stone floor towards what he knew was the unnecessarily over the top chair that the Earl insisted on sitting in. During the first few weeks of Jaskier’s time in the manor he had made quite a few quips about the absurdity of the chair. He had received some rather nasty scars on his back for those.

Jaskier yelped when he was thrown to his knees, pain shooting through him as he collided with the floor. You’d think that after hundreds of times being thrown to your knees you’d grow used to the feeling, but alas the universe really was a cruel thing and it hurt just as much as it did the first time. Jaskier kept his head ducked down low, his chin pressed against the dirt coated skin of his chest as he waited for the inevitable address from his tormentor.

“Have you learned your lesson this time, bard?” The Earl’s question was hypothetical. Jaskier knew that, had learned that most of the Earl’s addresses to him where hypothetical after a good number of smart retorts and even smarter beatings. So Jaskier said nothing, just slowly opened his eyes, keeping them locked on the stone under him as they finally adjusted to the bright room. The room was quiet and Jaskier could hear nothing other than his own breathing before the very recognisable sound of his Master’s footsteps sounded. He made his way slowly to the kneeling Jaskier, no reason to rush when he was the one holding all the power in the room.

His grip was tight and punishing when he grabbed Jaskier’s hair, tugging the bard’s head back. Jaskier was forced to look into the face of the man who had been holding him captive since he had made the series of rather stupid decisions; decisions that left him at the mercy of the sadistic Earl. There was no compassion, no sympathy or anything even close to a gentle emotion, in the Earl’s eyes as he gazed down at the beaten and broken bard. Jaskier did not meet his eyes, did not dare after all this time, but instead looked out the window behind the Earl, trying to remember the last time he had stood outside in the warmth of the sun. It must have been years at this point.

“You stink, little bard,” the Earl finally said, releasing Jaskier’s hair with a hard shove backwards. It sent Jaskier reeling and he landed on his back with a pained sound; the bruises from his last beating hadn’t fully healed, not to mention the cuts from the last time his Master had whipped him. The Earl stepped over, a foot coming to rest on Jaskier’s chest; he pressed down _just_ enough that it grew a bit uncomfortable for Jaskier to breathe. “I’m having guests join me this evening and I expect you to be well behaved.” His smile was twisted and sadistic as he increased the pressure on Jaskier’s chest, the bard unable to stop the grimace as his tender back was pressed harder into the ground. “Do not give me a reason to punish you, bard. I have so missed your screams.”

Jaskier swallowed, giving a small nod as he whispered, “yes, Master,” his voice hoarse and shaky both from disuse and the undeniable fear that grew within him from the Earl’s words. The Earl barely acknowledged his response, removing his foot and stepping away from Jaskier.

“Take him to get cleaned up.” This was addressed to the guards waiting by the door as the Earl made his way back to his throne, a servant stepping forward with a cloth with which he could wipe the hand that had become dirty when gripping Jaskier’s hair. The guards were quick to move, very aware of the Earl’s temper and how quick he was to punish not only those he held captive but those in his employ as well. Jaskier was once again pulled roughly to his feet by guards who care more for coin than the life of another; he was dragged from the room to get cleaned up for whoever this _guest_ was, barely concealed whimper of pain at the rough treatment.

—

The room that Jaskier had been given when he _‘finally earned the privilege’_ was tiny with nothing more than a bed and a small chest of drawers. Over the course of his stay in the Earl’s house, Jaskier had been _gifted_ a few items of clothing, most of which were plain and nothing even close to the fancy clothes he was used to. But there was one outfit he’d been given that was rather extravagant, made of fine materials and with expensive craftsmanship.

Jaskier hated it.

He hated it for many reasons; the biggest one being that it showed off more skin than it concealed and made Jaskier look like nothing more than a cheap whore. Which, in all honesty, matched how he felt ever since arriving in the manor.

It was no surprise to Jaskier that that outfit he found laid out on his bed when the guards left him alone in his room with a tub of - lukewarm at best - water in the middle. The door shut firmly behind the guards, the lock clicking made Jaskier sigh. He leaned against the wall next to the door, rubbing a hand over his face staring at the tub of water.

Sometimes his Master was almost kind to him. And Jaskier could sometimes almost forget all the horrible things the Earl did to him. Well, not quite _forget_ but maybe _ignore_. It was easier to ignore the beatings and rapes and humiliations when he was alone in his room with an actual washtub to bathe in and an expensive outfit to put on. Jaskier took a slow deep breath before pushing himself off the wall and made his way over to the tub, tugging off his disgusting tunic and trousers and letting them drop to the floor. They were a problem for later.

Long relaxing baths in tubs of hot water used to be something Jaskier loved to do before. But now baths were something he didn’t have the luxury of being able to enjoy. He washed quickly and thoroughly, scrubbing his skin until every speck of dirt was washed away. It took a while and almost the entire bar of soap before he finally managed to get all the grime off his skin and out of his hair. By the time he was finished, the water was ice cold and he shivered as he climbed out of the tub.

Jaskier glanced up at the small window high on the wall above his bed, noting the change in the angle of the sunlight streaming in. He didn’t have much time left before guards came to collect him and it would do him no good to not be ready when they arrived. He got dressed quickly, tugging and fiddling with his outfit to try and make it magically cover more skin than it did. But just like every other thing he wore that outfit, it continued to only cover the bare minimum and Jaskier sighed. He sat down on the edge of his bed, running his fingers through his damp hair while he waited for the guards to collect him.

—

Jaskier had been kneeling at his Master’s side for hours. Luckily the Earl seemed to be in a good mood; his hand was gentle in Jaskier’s hair, playing with the long strands absently as he chattered away with his guests. Occasionally he would even hand feed Jaskier small morsels of food, a luxury the bard was rarely afforded. Jaskier didn’t bother to try and follow the conversations happening above his head, focusing instead on soaking up the gentle touch of his Master to have something to think about to when the inevitable torture happened that evening once they guests had retired to bed.

It wasn’t until Jaskier heard ‘the bard’ referenced that he tuned back into what was happening around him. He looked up, barely managing to see anything with the table blocking his view. He turned his gaze to the Earl, noting the smirk on his Master’s face with dread. Jaskier knew that look far too well and it never ended pleasantly for him whenever that look appeared on his Master’s face.

“My bard will take good care of you,” the Earl said, grip tightening on the bard’s hair. Jaskier swallowed, shifting to try and alleviate the pain of his hair being pulled. “He is an expert cocksucker. And is, oh so pretty when he cries.”

“I don’t need your whore.” Jaskier didn’t recognise the voice - the definitely male voice - but something about it sent a chill down his spine. Jaskier couldn’t see the man speaking but he had a sinking suspicion that the man was big and scary looking and definitely loved to make people scream. The Earl only ever loaned Jaskier out to men almost as sadistic as he was. “I need to do my job and be paid the coin you promised.”

The Earl hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at Jaskier who quickly looked away. He pulled Jaskier to his feet by his hair, eyes roaming over the bard’s body. Jaskier stood rigid in front of him, not really sure what his Master was thinking or planning but knowing that it was not good.

“You will have your coin, Witcher,” the Earl said, giving the bard a little shove towards whoever it was he was talking to. Jaskier stumbled backwards into a large, firm frame with a grimace and a quiet yelp. “But you can’t hunt the beast until tomorrow so for tonight - enjoy.” He gestured to Jaskier, leaning back in his chair as he watched the bard with a devious look in his eye. “Don’t worry, Witcher, the bard will be well worth it.”

“I don’t want your whore,” the Witcher said, his voice deep as it vibrated through Jaskier’s entire frame. Jaskier couldn’t help the flinch at how annoyed the Witcher sounded. People generally took out their annoyance on Jaskier and the Witcher was plenty strong enough to make that annoyance well known. The Witcher did not move away from him and Jaskier couldn’t muster the strength to move either so he just stood there with his back pressed against the chest of the Witcher his Master had loaned him out to.

“Well if you don’t want him then I could give him to my guards for the night,” the Earl mused, sipping at whatever was in his goblet. Jaskier stiffened at that, breath catching in his throat as fear settled hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach. “They've got a new set of knives they have just been dying to test out.”

The whimper was out before Jaskier could even think to stop it. A second one following quickly when a large hand landed on his stomach. Jaskier hated himself for the fact that this is what he’d become. A broken man who’d been turned into a sadist’s whore and punching bag. A shell of the man he used to be who was afraid of his own shadow at this point.

“Come, little bard,” his Master said, beckoning the bard to his side. Jaskier didn’t move - _couldn’t move_ , trapped with the Witcher’s hand on his stomach. It took all of five seconds of inaction on Jaskier’s part for his Master’s expression to morph into one of annoyance. “Bard, you know I don’t like to repeat myself. _Come_.”

Jaskier shifted to take a step to his Master but the Witcher’s hand on his stomach increased in pressure and a soft growl rumbled through his chest; the sound made Jaskier freeze and stiffen, eyes growing wide with a steadily increasing fear. His Master had given him an order and had even been forced to _repeat_ himself but Jaskier was trapped in the grasp of an also annoyed and equally scary Witcher, unable to follow his Master’s orders. Jaskier didn’t know what to do and the fear only increased with each passing second, growing ever larger until it gripped at his chest and caused his heart to simultaneous clench tight and beat rapidly.

“Changed your mind, Witcher?” The Earl said with a raised eyebrow and smirk on his lips.

“Yes.”

“Very well,” the Earl smirked, a far too self-satisfied look on his face as his gaze flicked from the Witcher to Jaskier. “He is yours for tonight. Do whatever you wish to him so long as he is still breathing in the morning.” Jaskier swallowed and looked down at the ground, trying to hold himself together and not cry. It wouldn’t matter if he did and his tears only worked to amuse the Earl anyway. “My guards will show you to your room. Do enjoy, Witcher.”

The Witcher at his back only grunted in reply. Jaskier didn’t notice how warm the Witcher’s body was until said man stepped away to follow the guards. A guard grabbed Jaskier by the arm, pulling him along to follow. The walk through the corridors of the manor didn’t take long before they arrived at one of the guest rooms. It was one of the smaller ones but the size of the room doesn’t matter to Jaskier, it was all the same when Jaskier was being raped or beaten.

The guard opened the door, allowing the Witcher inside before shoving Jaskier in after him. The bard landed roughly on his knees for the second time that day as the door slammed shut behind him, sealing his fate for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> References to rape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get up.” 
> 
> The Witcher’s voice was low and deep and growly and undeniably terrifying. Jaskier flinched but stood quickly, nervously tucking his hands behind his back as he waited for the next order from the Witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

The stone floor beneath him was cold and hard like it always unfortunately was; it didn’t take long for Jaskier’s knees to begin to ache from kneeling in the middle of the room, a silent and definitely annoyed Witcher standing a few feet away from him. The silence was oppressive and it scared Jaskier more than if the Witcher yelled. With each minute that passed in silence, the tension in Jaskier increased; his heartbeat wildly in his chest, a tight knot of fear and uncertainty in his stomach. Jaskier had always hated silence and since arriving at the manor that hatred had only increased. Silence from the Earl only meant he was plotting even worse things to do to Jaskier.

Even though he’d had it beaten into him plenty of times that he was _not_ to look at anyone without express permission, Jaskier risked a glance up at the Witcher. He found the man staring back at him, a completely unreadable expression on his face. Jaskier looked back down as quickly as he’d glanced up; he tucked his head even further down to try and make himself smaller, more submissive. Taking on a submissive stance never did much to appease the people he’d been loaned to in the past - and definitely never did anything to appease his Master - but Jaskier continued to try anyway; maybe one day it would actually work, but he held out no hope that it would with the Witcher. Witchers didn’t feel human emotions after all.

“Get up.”

The Witcher’s voice was low and deep and _growly_ and undeniably terrifying. Jaskier flinched but stood quickly, nervously tucking his hands behind his back as he waited for the next order from the Witcher.

“Come here.”

Jaskier swallowed, taking a few slow and measured steps towards the Witcher. He didn’t dare to look up more than was strictly necessary to find out where the Witcher was standing. He continued forward until he was stood directly in front of the Witcher, close enough for the large and terrifyingly intimidating man to grab him. And that is what the man did.

Jaskier jumped and made a completely undignified yelp when the Witcher’s large hands landed on his shoulders. His head jerked up, completely and totally without his permission, and he found the Witcher staring down at him. Jaskier couldn’t help but stare into the Witcher’s sharp, bright yellow eyes. A voice in his brain was screaming for him to _look away_ , that making eye contact with the Witcher was a terrible idea that would only increase the Witcher’s annoyance. It took a far too long for that voice to finally actually register and Jaskier was quick to duck his head quickly back down to stare at the floor.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said quickly, voice soft and trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Hmm.” The Witcher pulled Jaskier forward, his grip tight on the bard’s shoulders. Jaskier could do nothing but follow, nerves making his frame tremble slightly as he is pulled towards the bed. He was pushed down onto it, the firm pressure of the Witcher’s hands making his knees buckle to sit on the edge of the soft mattress. “Sit.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier whispered, tucking his hands into his lap while he waited. And waited. And waited. Jaskier was pretty sure at least ten minutes passed. Ten minutes of heavy silence. Ten minutes of not a single touch from the Witcher. Why hadn’t the man ordered him to his knees so the bard could suck his cock? Or bent Jaskier over the bed to fuck his ass? Or even hit Jaskier to take his very clear annoyance from earlier out on the bard? It made no sense and it didn’t take long until the silence and lack of _anything_ broke Jaskier and he looked up, catching sight of the Witcher sat in the chair in the corner. The man was staring at him and Jaskier squirmed under his gaze.

“What’re you going to do, sir?” Jaskier asked before he thought better of it, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. Even though his self-preservation instinct screamed at him to stop talking and look away he didn’t, too enraptured with the Witcher’s stare. “How do you want me, sir?” The Witcher continued to stare at him silently, not a single change in his expression. Jaskier couldn’t stand it, the silence and staring and needed to get some reaction out of the Witcher. “I can suck your cock, sir. Or- or you could fuck me, sir. Or, um, you could-“ Jaskier swallowed, tugging on the edge of his very small top, “you could beat me, sir. Master would loan you some of his, um, some of his tools if you wanted. He-“

A growl from the corner of the room cut Jaskier off. The bard swallowed back the rest of his sentence, entire body trembling. His shoulders hunched in and head once again ducked to his chest, instinct winning out to make himself a smaller target. But instinct didn’t win out over everything and Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from continuing to ramble, voice shaky and full of fear.

“Sorry. Sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m sorry- I- you cou-“

“What is your name?”

For a moment Jaskier considered given the Witcher his real name, his full name - title and all. A passing thought that maybe the Witcher would realise that Jaskier was nobility and take him far far away from the manor. But it had been a long time since he’d last gone by that name, far too long for it to even really feel like it was his name at all.

“Jaskier,” he whispered.

“Jaskier.” It was the first time Jaskier had heard his name said in a tone other than contempt or mocking in so long and it was surprising just how _good_ that felt.

“Look at me, Jaskier.” Jaskier looked up, the order settling something in his chest as he looked across at the Witcher.

“Calm down. I’m not going to fuck you. Or beat you.” Jaskier didn’t believe it; he’d been involved in this game. Plenty of the men his Master had loaned him to would play the nice guy at first to make him relax before quickly ruining that and leaving Jaskier with the scars to teach him to never trust another person’s kindness again.

“What are you going to do?” Jaskier couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t believe that the Witcher didn’t have _some_ terrible thing planned for him. 

“Sleep,” the Witcher responded. “And so are you.”

“No, that’s not-“ Jaskier raised a hand to run through his hair, tugging a bit on it. “That makes no sense. That’s not how this goes. You _need_ to fuck me. Or beat me. Or something.” An expression finally graced the Witcher’s face - one of confusion. “My Master will- if you don’t- if I don’t- he’ll punish me. I- you-“ Jaskier couldn’t get his fear foggy brain to focus long enough to form a coherent thought and he gave up, a pained whine punctuating his disjointed sentence.

“I’m not going to fuck you or beat you,” the Witcher repeated; his tone was firm and left no room for arguing and pulled a disgusting pathetic whimper from Jaskier’s throat.

“Please-“

“But,” the Witcher didn’t let Jaskier get started rambling again, “the Earl doesn’t need to know that. I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. Now, shut up and go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“I- um- I- here?” Jaskier looked around at the bed, the big soft comfortable bed. Jaskier genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually _slept_ in a bed like this. There was no way that Jaskier would be allowed to sleep in that bed. Of course, that isn’t what the Witcher meant. “No, right, no of course not. This is your bed. I’ll just…” Jaskier stood up, stepping away from the bed. The corner of the room near the fireplace seemed like a decent enough place to sleep.

“Stop, Jaskier.” He’d barely made it two steps before the Witcher spoke. Jaskier froze, daring another glance at the Witcher. He hadn’t been punished for looking so far and it was making Jaskier bold. “Get on the bed.”

Jaskier swallowed. Ah. He’d been right after all. He gave a small nod and a whispered “yes sir”, reaching up to tug off his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” The Witcher sighed, annoyance creeping into every syllable. Jaskier shut his eyes, forcing a deep breath to stop himself from panicking at the fact that he seemed to do nothing but annoy the dangerous Witcher he was trapped in a room with.

“Undressing,” Jaskier said softly, hands still gripping his top.

“Don’t do that. Just get on the bed and go to sleep.”

“Sleep?” Jaskier opened his eyes, turning to look at the Witcher. It was starting to confuse him as to why the Witcher hadn’t moved from his spot perched in the chair for the entire time they were talking.

“Yes, Jaskier, _sleep_ ,” the Witcher huffed. “Get on the bed and sleep.”

“Right,” Jaskier exhaled slowly, letting his hands fall down to his sides. “Right. Sleep.” Jaskier nodded slightly, swallowing down the confusion and worry and fear as he turned to climb onto the bed. He laid as close to the edge as he could without falling off, stiff and just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He listened, trying to hear when the Witcher finally stood up and made his way over to the bed. Maybe he wanted to rip the clothes off of Jaskier himself. The Earl would be angry that Jaskier had ruined his most expensive outfit and he would be punished handsomely for it. But if that’s what the Witcher wanted Jaskier was not in any position to stop him.

But that never happened. The only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire and Jaskier’s far too laboured breathing. Maybe the Witcher wasn’t lying and he didn’t plan on using Jaskier. At first, Jaskier pushed that quiet voice away, past experience making him unable to believe it. But the longer he laid there, left completely alone on the big, soft bed that quiet voice got louder and louder.

“Relax, Jaskier,” the Witcher’s voice was softer than before, still gruff and intimidating but softer none the less. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jaskier whispered, face pressed into the pillow so it was too quiet to be heard across the room. He hoped.

“Go to sleep,” the Witcher repeated.

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier said, louder this time as he shut his eyes. He didn’t think he was going to get any sleep that night but he was determined to at least try and follow the Witcher’s order.

—

Much to Jaskier’s surprise, he did fall asleep. He didn’t dream which was definitely more of a blessing than the soft mattress underneath him. It had been a long time since his dreams had been anything pleasant and being able to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep a gift Jaskier wasn’t completely sure he deserved.

He woke up slowly, trying to hold onto the first peaceful sleep that he’d had in a long time. He didn’t end up sleeping for long even though he was comfortable and warm his body was still wary of the precarious state of his safety. He shifted, keeping his eyes closed to try and force his body back to sleep. How warm he was came as a bit of a surprise; his clothes didn’t lead to warmth so he wasn’t completely surprised to open his eyes to see a blanket draped over his body.

He definitely didn’t put that there so it must have been the Witcher. Jaskier looked over at the Witcher to find the man still awake cleaning his sword, so Jaskier assumed he hadn’t been asleep for long. He watched the Witcher for a few minutes, cataloguing every inch of the Witcher’s face - his strong jaw, his bright yellow eyes, his pale white hair. He was an attractive man and if Jaskier had met him before everything that had happened to him in that manor, he wouldn’t have hesitated to try and sleep with him.

“Why’re you being so nice to me?” Jaskier asked, voice barely louder than a whisper as he stared across the room at the Witcher. It was moments like this that Jaskier was reminded of just how pathetic he had become; a night sleeping in a bed, not being beaten or raped, was not something Jaskier from a few years ago would have considered a kindness but rather a given, a fact of life.

“Why’re you talking and not sleeping?” The Witcher didn’t sound so much annoyed as exasperated like he genuinely didn’t understand why Jaskier keep talking.

“This is your bed, you should be sleeping in it,” Jaskier said, sitting up and letting the blanket pile into his lap. He wanted to grab it and pull it back up, wanted to use it to hide behind. “I’ll sleep on the floor and you sleep on the bed. If the guards catch me in the bed and you not, I’ll be in trouble. Massive amounts of trouble. Like bone-shattering amounts of trouble. Literally. The guards will probably break a few bones in punishment. Or Master will. He’s not afraid of dirty work. He-”

“Jaskier, do you always talk this much?” The Witcher stood, pulling off bits of armour and putting them on the table.

Jaskier shrugged, looking down at his lap to fiddle with the blanket pooled there. “Usually someone hits me before I’m able to say more than a sentence so…” He shrugged again, glancing up and watching wearily as the Witcher made his way across the room. “Are you going to hit me now?” It wouldn’t surprise Jaskier if he did; it would make a lot of sense. Jaskier was still confused how he’d made it so long without being hit, especially since he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut around this Witcher.

“No.” The word was more of a grunt than an actual word but it got the Witcher’s point across. Said Witcher made his way to the other side of the bed from Jaskier, which confused the bard. It seemed that everything this Witcher did confuse him.

“What’re you doing?” Jaskier frowned as the Witcher sat down on the bed; he pulled off his boots before climbing into the bed properly, laying down under the blankets.

“Sleeping.”

“Ah- oh- right,” Jaskier said with a few small, rapid nods. “Right of course yeah. I’ll just, um, yeah.” He pushed the blanket off his lap before shifting to climb off the bed. He was stopped by the Witcher’s hand grabbing his arm and he yelped, jumping slightly before stiffening.

“Lay down, Jaskier,” the Witcher’s voice was quiet, almost like he was trying to be gentle.

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier swallowed down the lump in his throat, laying down rigidly at the Witcher’s side.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Witcher repeated for what was probably the millionth time that night. “I’m going to sleep and so are you.”

“Right,” Jaskier whispered. “Right. Yeah. Okay. Sleep.” He risked pulling the blanket back over his body; the Witcher hadn’t gotten upset with him so far - and he was the one who put the blanket over Jaskier in the first place - so the bard assumed that the man wouldn’t mind. And he was right because the Witcher said nothing in response to the action. It took Jaskier a few minutes to realise why the Witcher had decided to share the bed with him, but eventually, he figured it out and a small smile spread across his lips as he shut his eyes.

It took longer this time but after some time he was finally able to relax enough and fall asleep, the slow rhythmic breathing of the Witcher a soothing melody to lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Rape/non-con references  
> Abuse references  
> Jaskier basically begs Geralt to rape/beat him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bard glanced behind him, catching sight of the Witcher stepping out of the room with a stormy look on his face. Jaskier was confused as to why the Witcher seemed angry now that Jaskier was being taken away but he didn’t have time to question it before he was slammed up against a wall by the guard escorting him to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

When Jaskier woke the second time he was once again alone in the bed, sunlight streaming in through the windows. What Jaskier wanted more than anything was to stay curled up in that bed, a blanket pulled up over his head to hide from the world for the rest of forever. For the first time in a long time, Jaskier felt safe - or something resembling it. He shifted, rolling over and curling up tighter. Maybe if he ignored the coming day it would go away and he could pretend that it was still night.

“Jaskier,” the Witcher’s voice was just as gruff in the light of day but Jaskier was surprised to find that he found it almost comforting. Jaskier pulled the blanket down off his head, turning to look at the Witcher. The man was once again dressed in all his armour, sword strapped to his back. 

“Yes, sir?” Jaskier sat up, brushing the hair out of his face.

“You need to get up,” the Witcher said, grabbing the bread from the plate on the table. “Here.” He held the bread out to Jaskier made the bard frown. “Eat. Quickly. I need to go.”

“Right,” Jaskier slid out of the bed, bare feet padding softly over to the man. He took the bread, taking a small bite. It was still a bit warm and definitely wasn’t stale which was a wonderful delight for Jaskier. “Thank you, sir.”

“Hm,” the Witcher watched him eat, which was a bit unsettling but considering how nice the Witcher had been to him, Jaskier wasn’t going to question it and just focused on the bread. Once he’d finished eating Jaskier looked up at the Witcher, taking a slow breath. He didn’t want the Witcher to leave, which surprised him. It seemed that everything about this man surprised him.

“Thank you, sir,” Jaskier repeated softly, not just thanking him for the bread but also every small kindness the man had gifted him that night. A strange look took over the Witcher’s face and he took a step towards the bard, making Jaskier stiffen slightly.

“Jaskier-“ A knock on the door interrupted whatever it was the Witcher was going to say. The man sighed and turned to the door, calling out a gruff, “yes?”

“The Earl wants to see you, Witcher,” a guard called out. “And we’re to take the bard back to his room.” Jaskier swallowed, ducking his head at the unfortunate reminder of what his life actually was.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered one more time to the Witcher, giving the man a small, hesitant smile before going to the door. He opened it, coming face to face with the guards. Their reaction was immediate, one grabbing Jaskier’s arm and dragging him down the hallway. The bard glanced behind him, catching sight of the Witcher stepping out of the room with a stormy look on his face. Jaskier was confused as to why the Witcher seemed angry now that Jaskier was being taken away but he didn’t have time to question it before he was slammed up against a wall by the guard escorting him to his room.

“Ow,” Jaskier mumbled, risking a glance up at the guard before turning his gaze to the floor.

“You look much better than expected, bard,” the guard said, eyes roaming all over Jaskier’s body, making the bard squirm. “We all placed bets on what body part you’d be missing after a night with the Witcher.” Jaskier swallowed, discomfort making his stomach clench. “But you don’t look like you’ve got a scratch or a bruise on you.” The guard laughed, pressing Jaskier a little firmer into the wall which made him groan from his injured back pressing into rough stone. “Well, none that we haven’t had the pleasure of giving you ourselves.” Jaskier flinched as the guard grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. “What did you do with the Witcher last night, huh?”

Jaskier didn’t answer, eyes focused on the guard’s chin. Nothing he could say would be satisfactory to the guard - the truth would only get Jaskier a beating and Jaskier never had been good at lying. A long moment of silence passed between them before the guard laughed, slapping Jaskier - hard and quick - before releasing him. Jaskier gasped and slumped against the wall for a moment, cheek stinging from the slap. The guard was oh so gracious enough to give Jaskier a whole five seconds to recover before gripping him by his shirt and dragging him the rest of the way to his room.

—

Usually being allowed to spend hours alone in his room was something Jaskier loved. Even though there was nothing to do in his room beyond stare at the wall it was the only place in the whole manor that Jaskier was safe. Or, more accurately safer. Nowhere was truly safe for the bard in the manor but at least when he was in his room he was usually left alone. He was quick to change out of his clothes, carefully folding and packing away the items into the chest. As much as he hated the outfit he had too few things that he could call his to not take care of them; not that the clothes or anything in that room were truly his. He pulled on a plain tunic and trousers before laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the previous night.

The Witcher was by far the strangest man Jaskier had ever met. All the stories said that Witchers were cold, unfeeling monsters. But Jaskier had met monsters, the Earl was a monster and his guards and his friends and all the random strangers that had taken advantage of Jaskier in that manor. And the Witcher was nothing like any of those men. Jaskier sighed, hand resting on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. It took Jaskier a moment to notice that he’d started humming a soft tune, something he vaguely remembered from his childhood; it had only taken a month for the Earl to beat any music out of Jaskier and the bard wasn’t completely sure why he’d felt that desire again but it made him smile. He tapped his fingers against his stomach while he continued to hum, mentally composing lyrics while he waited until the next time he was summoned.

—

Jaskier managed to have a few hours of blissful alone time before he heard footsteps down making their way down the hall. Jaskier sighed, sitting up from his reclining position on the bed. The stone was cold under his feet as he stood, waiting for the inevitable. A moment later the door opened just like Jaskier knew it would and the guard fixed him with a smirk.

“Come, bard,” the guard said, stepping back from the door to allow Jaskier to step out of the room. He was lead through the corridors to the great hall, the guard’s pace was quick which wasn’t the easiest for Jaskier to keep up with in his barefoot. He did his best to keep up, not wanting to fall behind even though he knew the way to the Great Hall by heart. The guards standing outside the room opened the doors when Jaskier and the other guard approached, allowing Jaskier to see the Earl seated once more on his ridiculous chair. Jaskier stepped inside, gaze quickly falling to the floor as he made his way across the room.

“Ah, bard,” the Earl said and Jaskier could hear the smirk in the Earl’s voice. “Come. Come here.” Jaskier walked slowly but not too slowly across the room; he did not want to go to the Earl but he was also too afraid to do anything but what he was told. He stopped exactly where he always stopped when approaching the Earl’s chair, slowly lowering himself to his knees and resting his hands on his thighs. The Earl let Jaskier kneel there for a moment without saying anything, leaving the bard to grow increasingly unsettled and confused as to what the man wanted. Finally, when Jaskier was beginning to worry that he would end up caving and speak out of turn the Earl spoke.

“Now, Witcher, do you want to tell him or shall I?”

Jaskier jerked at the mention of the Witcher, unable to stop himself from looking up and over his shoulder to see the Witcher standing over near the entrance to the hall. Jaskier quickly turned his gaze back to the floor, but not before the Earl had reached out and grabbed a fist full of Jaskier’s hair, pulling his sharply to force the bard closer to him. Jaskier crawled forward quickly, trying to alleviate some of the strain on his hair as he got far closer than he usually wants to be to the Earl. Once Jaskier was where the Earl wanted him, he released the bard’s hair, letting his head drop back down to stare at the floor.

Jaskier wasn’t sure why, but being treated to this treatment in front of the Witcher made him feel far more humiliated than all of the much more terrible things the Earl had done to him in front of others before.

“I’ve got some news for you, my little bard,” the Earl’s voice was indecipherable. Which never boded well for Jaskier and he wanted more than anything to look up to see if the Earl’s face held any clues to what the man was thinking. But Jaskier knew that that would be a disaster for him, especially after he’d already broken the rules and looked up without permission once, so he stared down at the floor. “The Witcher has turned down our payment of coin, little bard. Isn’t that strange? And stranger still is what he asked for instead. Do you know what that is, bard? What the Witcher wants more than coin? Can you guess?” Jaskier knew these questions were rhetorical but each made Jaskier increasingly confused.

“He asked for you,” the Earl leaned forward, grabbing Jaskier’s chin and pulling the bard’s face to look at him again. “Interesting isn’t it, hmm? Turn down the coin and instead ask for a worthless whore as payment. You must have done a very good job last night, bard.” The Earl laughed, cruel and taunting. He squeezed Jaskier’s jaw, cold eyes searching over the bard’s face. “Well, if he wants you that much he can have you. Easier to get rid of you than the coin I’d promised the Witcher.”

He released Jaskier, pushing the bard backwards forcefully enough to cause Jaskier to tip over and land on his back. Jaskier groaned from the impact, face scrunching up in confusion and pain. The Witcher turned down coin in favour of taking Jaskier as payment. It was beyond anything Jaskier could understand. But this was everything Jaskier wanted; he was leaving this manor, getting away from the Earl and his guests and guards. But Jaskier wasn’t completely sure that becoming the Witcher’s personal whore would end up being a good thing either.

“Take him, Witcher, he’s yours,” the Earl waved a hand vaguely at Jaskier, his eyes lifting to the man standing silently at the back of the room. The Earl looked bored, summoning a servant over to bring him a drink.

“Jaskier.” The Witcher must have moved before his voice came from right behind where Jaskier was still sprawled out on the floor. “Get up.” The Witcher sounded cold and the sound sent a tendril of fear down his spine. He pushed himself up, standing slowly and brushing his hands down the front of his simple tunic as he turned to look at the Witcher. Well, not look since his gaze was very firmly planted on the floor. Jaskier flinched when the Witcher grabbed his arm, preparing himself to be dragged from the room. But the Witcher’s grip was firm but not painful and instead of dragging Jaskier along he guided the bard from the room. They moved through the corridors of the manor quickly. The looked the guards gave the pair as they passed made Jaskier feel even more disgusting than he already did after everything that he’d done in that manor.

The sight of the front door of the manor made Jaskier freeze, fear gripping every single muscle in his body. The Witcher continued to move forward though and it barely took a couple of steps before the lack of movement on Jaskier’s part made itself known. Jaskier was jerked forward and stumbled over his feet; he would have fallen and landed flat on his face if not for the firm grip the Witcher continued to have on his arm.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry, sir,” Jaskier said, glancing up at Witcher. “I just- I- the door- it- I-“ Jaskier groaned, brushing the hair out of his face. He hated that he couldn’t get his thoughts together enough to express just _why_ a simple little door made him so scared.

“You’re scared,” the Witcher said quietly as to not allow the guards to overhear. He gripped Jaskier’s chin, tipping the bard’s head back to look at his face. “Why?”

“Not allowed to leave,” Jaskier whispered, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he stared up in the Witcher’s eyes.

“Yes you are,” the Witcher sounded confident and firm, still gruff but almost kind.

Jaskier shook his head, frantic and jerky little motions. “No, no I’m not. I- he- Master said- No, wait. You’re my Master now. Right yeah right okay. You’re my Master now and you said I can leave. I can leave. You’re my Master now. You’re-“

“Jaskier,” the Witcher squeezed the bard’s chin just slightly to get his attention and end his frantic rambling.

“Sorry, sir,” he shook his head slightly in the Witcher’s grip, “sorry Master. We can go now. We should go now. I’m sorry for holding you up. We should leave and then you can punish me.”

“Jaskier, stop talking,” the Witcher said, releasing his grip on Jaskier’s chin and stepping back. He kept his grip on the bard’s arm, firm and almost comforting as he led Jaskier out of the doors of the manor into the fading daylight for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Just general icky-ness from the Earl.
> 
> This is the last chapter I had pre-written before I started posting... so it may be a few days before I'm able to post next.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay here,” the Witcher said before stepping away, turning to continue down the path away from the Earl’s manor. 
> 
> “Please don’t leave me,” Jaskier whispered, swallowing down the fear bubbling up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master. I won’t be a bother, I swear. Please don’t leave me here. There’s monsters and the Earl’s men and-“ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for warnings. 
> 
> Beta read by: [erden-while](http://erden-while.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also - I've changed the rating because things are going to get a little more descriptive of the trauma Jaskier suffered. ~~(not in this chapter but the next)~~

It wasn’t until they had left the manor’s grounds that it really dawned on  Jaskier that he didn’t have any shoes on. The small pebbles hurt the bottom of his feet but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure of just  _ being outside _ . With the sun setting,  Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off of the sky and all the  colours that the sunset brought to it. If it wasn’t for the still, firm and steady grip of the Witcher’s hand on his arm he could have walked off a cliff for all the attention he was paying. He kept walking though, not really caring at this point if the Witcher did lead him directly off a cliff.

Truthfully,  Jaskier was a little overwhelmed by the fact that he was outside the manor and more than a little confused as to why the Witcher had demanded  _ him _ as payment. Whatever the reason the Witcher wanted him,  Jaskier knew it wouldn’t be good. No matter how nice the Witcher had been to him the previous night there was no way that kindness would continue now that  Jaskier _ belonged _ to him. 

Jaskier’s gaze was still turned to the sky and not to the ground in front of him, which of course meant that he ended up stepping directly on top of a sharp rock. It cut into the ball of his foot, making him stop short and let out a soft, “ow” as he glanced down at the ground. The Witcher was clearly paying more attention to him this time because he stopped immediately at  Jaskier’s gentle yelp.

“What’s happened?” The Witcher said, looking over at the bard. 

“Sorry,”  Jaskier said quickly. Always better safe to  apologise immediately. Sometimes it managed to reduce how severe his punishment was going to be. Not often but sometimes. “Sorry, Master. Nothing happened. We can keep going.” 

“ Jaskier ,” the Witcher’s tone was  _ almost _ a growl and was definitely annoyed which made  Jaskier flinch. 

“I-“

“Stop talking,” the Witcher said, pulling him over to the side of the path,  Jaskier hopping to try and keep the pressure off his cut foot, wincing with each step. The Witcher pushed him down onto a log, not unkindly but forceful none the less.  Jaskier sat down without a fight, staring down at the ground at his feet. The Witcher knelt down in front of  Jaskier , taking a hold of his leg and inspecting his cut foot. 

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier insisted, feeling deeply unsettled by the sight of the Witcher kneeling before him. Usually,  Jaskier was the one on his knees. The Witcher responded with his signature grunt before standing.  Jaskier tried to struggle to his feet as well, assuming that they would just be continuing along their journey, only to have the Witcher push him back down onto the log.

“Stay here,” the Witcher said before stepping away, turning to continue down the path away from the Earl’s manor. 

“Wait! What! No!”  Jaskier jumped to his feet, putting far too much pressure on his injured foot and stumbling forward. He slammed into the Witcher’s back with a pained, “fuck.”

“ Jaskier !” The Witcher snapped, turning around and grabbing the bard by the shoulders. He fixed the bard with a firm stare before lifting the smaller man off his feet and carrying him back to the log. The Witcher rested  Jaskier down on the log, placing a firm hand on the bard’s shoulder. “Stay here.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Jaskier whispered, swallowing down the fear bubbling up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master. I won’t be a bother, I swear. Please don’t leave me here. There’s monsters and the Earl’s men and-“

“Jaskier!” The Witcher gripped the bard’s chin in a firm grip. “Shut up.” Jaskier quickly shut his mouth, eyes lowered as to not stare back into the Witcher’s golden gaze. “And stop panicking. I’m not leaving you. I will be right back.” Jaskier whimpered when the Witcher released his chin and stepped back, glancing up to stare at the Witcher with tear-filled eyes. The Witcher sighed, “my horse is around the corner. I’m going to get her and will be right back. Stay here.” 

“Yes, Master,”  Jaskier whispered, ducking his chin down to his chest. He stiffened a bit at the annoyed huff the Witcher made before the man headed off for his horse, his footsteps growing quieter as he moved away. Since the sun was almost completely set, the noisy chirrups of the wildlife had quietened, leaving  Jaskier sitting on the log in silence. He wrapped his arms around himself as he sat on the log, making darting glances around for danger. Not that he would actually be able to defend himself; between the cut on his foot, his general lack of any fighting ability, and being underfed for years,  Jaskier wouldn’t be able to defend himself from a fly. 

With each passing minute,  Jaskier became more and more sure that the Witcher wasn’t coming back. His shoulders slumped, hunching in on himself as he tried to keep the tears from falling from his eyes. He didn’t understand why the Witcher would ask for him as payment to then just leave him on a log on the side of the road. Maybe it was some joke. Maybe the Witcher and the Earl had planned this together, giving  Jaskier a few minutes of false hope and freedom and then bursting that happy little bubble. Any second now, the Earl’s guards are going to come and drag  Jaskier back to the Earl’s manor. That would well and truly break any tiny sliver of spirit that  Jaskier had left. He choked down a sob, tangling his fingers in his hair as he sat curled up on the log, waiting for the betrayal he thought was inevitable.

The oppressive silence was broken by the sound of a twig snapping.  Jaskier to looked up sharply, catching sight of the Witcher standing directly in front of him with a horse a few feet behind him. An overwhelming relief washed over him and he let out a soft sob, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Master.” Jaskier rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the tears. “You came back.”

“ Geralt ,” the Witcher said, kneeling down in front of  Jaskier and taking the bard’s foot, resting it in his lap and cleaning it off with something he must have gotten from a pack his horse was carrying.

“What?” Jaskier frowned, watching him.

“My name is Geralt,” the Witcher - Geralt - said, not looking up from his task. “Stop calling me Master.”

“But,” Jaskier hissed a bit as Geralt cleaned the blood and dirt off his foot, “but that’s what you are. My Master.”

“You will not call me that,” Geralt said, looking up at Jaskier with a firm stare. “Call me Geralt or call me Witcher or call me nothing but do not call me that.”

“Okay,”  Jaskier said, gaze falling down to his lap as  Geralt went back to cleaning and tending to the cut. The Witcher’s hands were rough with calluses from years of hard work but they were gentle when healing  Jaskier’s cut. Once  Geralt was done, he pushed himself to his feet and went over to the horse, digging around in the saddlebags. “Thank you, Mas- Witcher.” 

“Hmm,”  Geralt didn’t turn around, pulling some items out of the saddlebag.  Jaskier watched him, shivering a bit as the cool of nighttime started to creep in now that the sun had sunk down below the trees. He looked back down at his lap, hoping it didn’t get much colder as his thin tunic and trousers would do nothing to keep him warm. Maybe if he got lucky,  Geralt would make a fire and he could get a bit of warmth from that. 

“ Jaskier .”

The bard looked up, finding  Geralt holding out what looked like a jacket to him, clearly one of  Geralt’s spare,  well worn as it was. The bard took it, a confused look on his face as he inspected the jacket. 

“Put it on,”  Geralt said, watching  Jaskier and waiting for him to follow the order.  Jaskier did so quickly, it wasn’t his place to questions why his Mas- the  _ Witcher  _ would care. The jacket was too big for  Jaskier , but it was warm and  he wrapped it tightly around himself.  Geralt nodded, holding out a waterskin, 

“Here. Drink.”

Jaskier took the waterskin, taking a slow, small sip as he kept his eyes on  Geralt the entire time. Part of him expected the water to be poisoned and honestly, at this point,  Jaskier wasn’t sure he cared if it was. After a few more small sips,  Jaskier handed the waterskin back to  Geralt , pulling the sleeves of his borrowed jacket down over his arms.  Geralt put the waterskin back into the horse’s saddlebag before turning back and holding a hand out to  Jaskier . 

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt said, waiting for Jaskier to take his hand. The bard frowned but reached out hesitantly, resting his hand in the Witcher’s. Geralt pulled Jaskier up to his feet, supporting the bard’s weight so he didn’t have to put any pressure on his injured foot. He led Jaskier over to the horse, letting go of his hand to grab him by the waist. “Up.” Geralt lifted Jaskier up to sit in the saddle, making the bard yelp in surprise. He grabbed the reins, looking down at the Witcher in confusion. Geralt gave the horse a loving pat before starting to walk down the path, the horse immediately following.

“Wait! What?”  Jaskier frowned. “This is your  horse, you should be riding. I can walk, Master.”  Geralt growled and  Jaskier flinched. “Witcher, sorry! I’m sorry!” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can walk though, Witcher. You should ride your horse.” 

“Shut up,  Jaskier ,”  Geralt said, continuing to walk down the path. “Your foot is injured. You can’t walk.” He glanced over his shoulder to check on the bard. “And we’re not going far anyway. There’s a safe place to camp for the night just up ahead.” 

“If we’re not going  far I can walk,”  Jaskier insisted, giving the reins a tug to try and stop the horse. The horse only whinnied in return, sounding all too much like a smug laugh but didn’t stop trotting along and neither did  Geralt .  Jaskier let out a frustrated huff, pulling the jacket tighter around himself as he sat and stared off into the trees. It was getting harder and harder to see, the sun basically set at this point, and  Jaskier was a little nervous about being outside at night. There were so many dangerous things outside in the nighttime, but  Jaskier was sure that since the Witcher had requested him as payment  Geralt wouldn’t let anything happen to him, at least not until he’d gotten what he wanted from Jaskier. After a while,  Geralt stopped, grabbing the horse’s reins and tying it off to a tree. It was fully dark at this point and  Jaskier was having a hard time seeing more than a couple feet in front of him. 

“Stay there,”  Geralt said before  Jaskier could climb off the horse. He gave a small nod, fiddling with his sleeves as he watched - or tried to at least - as  Geralt moved around the edges of the small clearing they were in and gathered up some firewood. Once the firewood was gathered up,  Geralt made quick work of lighting a fire in the middle of the clearing. The flickering light of the fire made it a bit easier for  Jaskier to watch as  Geralt pulled a bedroll and some other supplies from the saddlebags, setting everything up around the fire before returning to  Jaskier . He once again held out a hand to the bard, an expectant  look on his face.  Jaskier didn’t hesitate this time and took the Witcher’s hand, using the support to help him slide down off the horse. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said softly as Geralt helped him over to the bedroll laid out by the fire. The Witcher sat him down on the roll, stepping away to grab a small bag and the waterskin from before. He sat down next to Jaskier, handing both items to the bard. 

“Eat something,” Geralt said, nodding to the bag. Jaskier rested the waterskin in his lap and opened the bag, finding some bread and cheese in there. He pulled out the bread, breaking it in half and holding one piece out to Geralt. 

“Here, we can share,” Jaskier said, giving the Witcher a hesitant smile. Geralt shook his head, gently pushing the bard’s hand back. 

“No, you eat,” Geralt said, poking a stick in the fire to stoke the flames a bit. 

“ _ Please _ ,”  Jaskier said, sounding overwhelmed by the  number of unusual things he could handle in one day. “Please, Ma-  _ Witcher _ .” The Witcher sighed and took the bread from him, taking a bit without looking at the bard.  Jaskier sighed, “thank you,” before taking a small bite of his portion of bread. The pair sat in silence for a long time, each eating their own food. Once  Geralt was finished with his bread he went over to take care of his horse while  Jaskier nibbled on the pieces of cheese and watched the flames flicker. 

“You should sleep,”  Geralt said, his voice quiet as to not attract the attention of any nighttime wildlife, as he came back over to the fire a little while later, his horse tended to and settled for the night.  Jaskier had finished eating a few minutes before and was currently taking a few small sips of the water. “We need to get up early.” 

“Right,”  Jaskier said, resting the bag and waterskin to the side. Now that  Geralt had mentioned sleep,  Jaskier realised how tired he was. It wasn’t particularly late but the day had been full of strange experiences that had left  Jaskier on edge all day, which was an exhausting way to exist.  Jaskier looked down at the bedroll under him, noting that it was the only one laid out. Because of course, it was. There was no reason for  Geralt to have two bedrolls. It was almost like  Geralt could read his mind because before  Jaskier could say anything or more, Geralt spoke.

“Don’t you dare move,  Jaskier ,” he said, laying down on the grass on the other side of the fire. He tucked an arm under his head, glancing over at  Jaskier . “And don’t talk. Just go to sleep.”

“But-“

“No buts,”  Geralt sighed, turning his head to look up at the sky. “Just sleep.” 

Jaskier gingerly lay down on the bedroll and curled up. The oversized jacket he’d been loaned managed to cover a large amount of his body once he was balled up and it smelled like the Witcher - which, much to  Jaskier’s surprise considering he’d just met the man, made  Jaskier feel safe. Between the comforting smell of the jacket and the warmth of the fire, it didn’t take long for the exhaustion of the day to catch up to him and  Jaskier fell asleep, nose buried deep in the jacket sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Just general ick because Jaskier is in a very bad headspace


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop.” 
> 
> Jaskier flinched at the Witcher’s growl and tried to pull his hands back from Geralt, only to have them held tighter. Jaskier winced, confident that he was going to have bruises from where the Witcher held his wrists.
> 
> “I’m sorry.” Jaskier’s voice shook as he spoke, too scared to look up at the Witcher but compelled to apologise and beg for forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnote for warnings.

_ Jaskier _ _ flinched with each sharp click of the Earl’s shoes on the stone floor. The rope around his wrists was rough, scratching and bruising as it bit into his skin. A few days had passed since  _ _ Jaskier _ _ had last seen the Earl, which really worked just fine for  _ _ Jaskier _ _. The less time he spent with the man the better, but almost a year trapped inside the manor with that monster had taught  _ _ Jaskier _ _ that it was never too long before the Earl grew bored and summoned  _ _ Jaskier _ _ to his side to...work off some steam.  _

_ “Tell me, bard,” the Earl said, stopping behind where  _ _ Jaskier _ _ was tied to the post in the center of the room, “what implement shall I use today, hmm?”  _

_ Jaskier _ _ could hear him moving things around on the table where those bastard guards had set out a collection of the  _ _ Earl’s _ __ _ favourite _ _ devices to use on him. _

_ “Answer me,  _ _ Jaskier _ _.” _

_ “Um,”  _ _ Jaskier’s _ _ voice was quiet and a bit hoarse, throat still sore from the abuse it had received the previous night. The Earl may have left  _ _ Jaskier _ _ alone but that didn’t mean that his men had. Half a dozen guards had taken great pleasure in using and abusing  _ _ Jaskier’s _ _ body the night before, leaving him sore and aching. Meaning anything the Earl was about to do to him would hurt that much more.  _

_ “Jaskier,” the Earl’s voice was low and cold and right next to Jaskier’s ear. The bard flinched, tugging against the rope binding him. “Answer me.” _

_ “The whip, Master?”  _ _ Jaskier _ _ suggested softly, hesitantly. He didn’t really want to have the Earl use anything on him but the whip was a pain he was used to. The Earl hummed thoughtfully, dragging his nails down a scar on the bard’s back.  _

_ “Not very creative, bard,” the Earl chuckled, digging a nail into one of the newer scars before stepping away and moving to the table to grab something. “But, I did get a new whip recently that I’ve been wanting to try out.”  _

_ “Great, lucky me,”  _ _ Jaskier _ _ mumbled, forehead pressed firmly against the wooden pole he was tied to. He thought that he was too quiet for the Earl to hear but he very quickly  _ _ realised _ _ that that wasn’t the case when his hair was yanked sharply. _

_ “What was that, slut?” The Earl said, pulling  _ _ Jaskier’s _ _ head back; his voice was low and dangerous in Jaskier’s ear. _

_ “N-nothing, Master,”  _ _ Jaskier whispered _ _ , heart beating wildly in his chest.  _

_ “You should know better than to lie to me at this point” The Earl’s grip on his hair grew impossibly tighter, making  _ _ Jaskier _ _ whine softly in pain. “It’s almost like you enjoy giving me reasons to punish you.”  _

_ The bard didn’t respond, squeezing his eyes shut as tears filled his eyes. The Earl released  _ _ Jaskier’s _ _ hair, stepping away and returning to the table. He listened as the Earl picked something up off the table, giving a thoughtful hum.  _ _ Jaskier _ _ flinched at the sound of a whip cracking through the air, biting his bottom lip to hold back a whimper. It would do no good to start crying before even receiving the first blow.  _

_ “Yes, I think this will do quite well,” the Earl said, his nonchalant tone more befitting a child picking flowers than a sadist choosing his tools. “Let’s see what you think, bard.” His footsteps echoed in the mostly empty room as he stepped into position behind Jaskier. There was an agonisingly long moment, in which Jaskier was left to try and stay calm in anticipation of the blow. Tensing up would only make things much worse and Jaskier tried to keep his muscles relaxed as he waited for the Earl to finally begin.  _

_ Even though he knew a blow was coming eventually Jaskier was not prepared for just how much it would hurt. It wasn’t even the first time, or the fifth or even the fiftieth, that he’d been whipped by the Earl or his men, but something about this new whip was so much worse than any of the previous ones used on him. He couldn’t hold back the scream, his voice echoing off the bare stone walls. The Earl chuckled, pacing absently back and forth behind Jaskier.  _

_ “Screaming already, Jaskier?” The Earl landed another blow on the bard’s back, pulling another cry from him. “We’ve only just begun.”  _

Jaskier woke with a scream still caught in his throat. He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he looked around and pulled the borrowed jacket tighter around himself to fend off the early morning chill. The sun was beginning to rise over the tops of the trees, casting a soft glow over the clearing where they had spent the night.  Jaskier quickly noticed that  Geralt was  nowhere to be found and a knot formed in his stomach. Did the Witcher leave him behind? His worry was quickly calmed by the sight of the Witcher’s horse still tied to the tree from the night before.  Jaskier stood, wincing a bit when he put pressure on his injured foot. He walked slowly over to the horse, resting a hand on her neck and rubbing down her side gently. 

“Where has our Master gone?”  Jaskier whispered to the horse, pressing his forehead against her soft neck. The horse bumped her head against his shoulder, blowing out a small puff of air in response to his question. “Well, I know he wouldn’t leave you behind so I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”  Jaskier sighed, absently running his hand down the length of the horse’s neck as he spoke. “Me on the other hand… I don’t know why he asked for me instead of coin. I know I’m not worth anything near what the Earl was going to pay him.”  Jaskier whispered to the horse, rubbing her side and fiddling with her mane while not paying much attention to his surroundings. 

“ Jaskier .” The Witcher’s voice startled  Jaskier out of his absentmindedness as he jumped to face him.

“Master!” Geralt frowned at the title, making Jaskier wince slightly before correcting himself. “Witcher. Sorry.” Jaskier brushed his hair out of his face, leaning slightly against the horse behind him to try and keep pressure off his injured foot. Jaskier frowned at the sight of blood on the Witcher that he knew wasn’t there the night before. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,”  Geralt said, walking over to drop a bag on the bedroll by the now long-dead fire. 

“You’re covered in blood,” Jaskier said, giving the horse one last pat before walking back over to the fire.

“It’s not mine,” Geralt said, opening the bag and pulling out a few apples. He held one out to Jaskier, waiting until the bard took the apple before taking a bite of his own. 

“Whose is it then?”  Jaskier asked. Learning when to stop talking had never been his best asset.  Geralt’s only response was a look that clearly told  Jaskier to  _ shut up _ . The bard swallowed, sitting down across from  Geralt and taking a small bite of his apple. The pair sat in silence for a long time and  Jaskier couldn’t help but stare at the Witcher while he slowly ate his apple. Once  Geralt had finished his apple he stood, moving over to the horse. He started getting her ready to leave, murmuring to her too softly for Jaskier to hear. 

“M-Witcher?” Jaskier said, tossing the core of his apple off into the trees. Geralt hummed, not turning around. Jaskier stood and grabbed the bag Geralt had returned with, walking slowly over to the horse. “Your bag,” Jaskier said, holding out the bag to Geralt. 

“It’s yours,” Geralt said, glancing over at Jaskier before turning back to the horse to do one final check on the straps holding the saddle in place.

“What?” Jaskier frowned, looking down at the bag with confusion. “This isn’t mine. I don’t- I don’t own anything. Haven’t in years.”

“Well you do now,” Geralt said, taking the bag from Jaskier. He pulled out a pair of boots and pressed them into Jaskier’s chest, giving the bard no choice but to grab them. Geralt turned away and secured the bag to the horse. “Put those on. We need to go.”

“Um, okay,” Jaskier said, bending down to pull the boots on. They were a little big for him but better than nothing. “Thank you, Witcher.” 

“Hm,” Geralt said, giving the horse a firm pat on the side before stepping back. He turned to Jaskier, gesturing to the horse with an expectant look. 

“What?” Jaskier said, head tilting to the side of a bit in confusion. 

“Get on,” Geralt said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But it’s your horse,” Jaskier said. Apparently they were both pointing out the obvious. “You should be the one to ride. I’m fine, M-Witcher, I can walk. Especially now that you’ve given me the boots.” He looked down at said boots and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Jaskier, just get on the horse,” Geralt said with a sigh. Jaskier could tell that the Witcher was growing frustrated and the bard winced. 

“Yes, Mas- Witcher,”  Jaskier said softly. He climbed up onto the horse with only a small bit of struggle. He settled comfortably in the saddle, giving the horse a firm pat on the side of her neck. Once the bard was seated,  Geralt climbed up onto the horse as well.  Jaskier flinched, shifting forward a bit to give the Witcher more room. He wasn’t sure how he felt, being seated so close to the Witcher. So  far the man had done nothing to hurt him - quite the opposite actually - but after everything  Jaskier had been through he was still wary of everyone. Especially big, very strong and very dangerous men like the Witcher, who was now pressed against his back. 

They rode for hours.  Jaskier knew the nearest town was far from the Earl’s estate and he assumed that that was where they were headed. He tried to focus on anything but the Witcher sat so close behind him, listening to the sounds of the birds chirping and the feeling of the sun on his skin. After a couple of hours of riding,  Jaskier began to grow a bit tired, weeks of interrupted nights catching up to him. He squirmed, trying to keep himself awake.

“Stop moving,” Geralt said, his voice so close to Jaskier’s ear it sent a shiver down the bard’s spine. 

“Sorry,”  Jaskier whispered, pressing a hand to his lips to cover his yawn.  Geralt only slowed the horse in response. The more relaxed pace made for a slightly smoother ride, which only served to lull Jaskier closer to sleep. After a while, he couldn’t fight it anymore and his eyes drifted shut. He leaned back against Geralt more firmly, too tired to care about whatever punishment the action would get him later. 

Jaskier woke up to  Geralt climbing down from the horse. He rubbed his eyes, looking around at the small town he now found himself in. They were right outside an inn, a stable boy standing nearby to take care of the horse for them.  Jaskier climbed down once  Geralt was out of the way, quickly grabbing the bag  Geralt had named his while the Witcher grabbed his own things. He followed  Geralt into the inn, holding his bag tight to his chest. It didn’t take long for them to get a room,  Jaskier noticing the way everyone seemed to keep as far away from the Witcher as possible. The room they were given was fairly small with only a single bed on it, but  Jaskier didn’t question it. He was used to such arrangements.

“Sit,” Geralt said, dropping his bag on the end of the bed and digging around inside it for something. Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, tense and unsure of what was coming. He rested the bag he was carrying on the floor beside him, fiddling with the sleeves of Geralt’s jacket that he was still wearing. Once Geralt found what he was looking for he reached over and dropped it in the bard’s lap.

“What’s this?” Jaskier frowned at the pouch Geralt had given him. 

“Coin,” Geralt said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s yours.” With that he turned away from where Jaskier was sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing his bag from the floor and heading to the door. “And the room is yours for a week until you figure out where you want to go next.”

“What?” Jaskier’s chest clenched tight as he began to figure out what the Witcher meant. “You’re leaving me here.”

“Yes.”

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed, dropping the coin pouch on the bed next to him. The outburst caused Geralt to freeze, turning to look at the bard. “No, please!” Jaskier jumped up from the bed, taking a few hurried steps towards where Geralt was stood by the door. “Please, Master, please, I swear I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want, I swear it. But please don’t leave me here. I’m yours. I was given to you. You- please- I-  _ please _ don’t leave me.” 

Tears welled up in his eyes as he dropped down to his knees in front of the Witcher, head bowed low in the most submissive stance he knew. He wracked his brain for something he could do to convince the Witcher to stay. Some way that he could prove his worth to  Geralt and convince the man that  Jaskier was worth keeping. But  Jaskier had nothing, nothing to give. Nothing except his body.  Jaskier’s hands shook as he fumbled for the laces of Geralt’s trousers. Before he could get there, however, his hands were wrapped in the Witcher’s strong grip. The man’s bag dropping to land on the floor next to him. 

“ _ Stop _ .” 

Jaskier flinched at the Witcher’s growl and tried to pull his hands back from  Geralt , only to have them held tighter.  Jaskier winced, confident that he was going to have bracelets of bruises from where the Witcher held his wrists.

“I’m sorry.”  Jaskier’s voice shook as he spoke, too scared to look up at the Witcher but compelled to beg for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, Master, please. I’m sorry! I -“ a sob ripped through  Jaskier’s throat, his entire frame trembling from the force of it, “ _ I don’t understand!”  _

Jaskier’s voice filled the room with more force than it had in a long, long time. He managed to pull his hands from the Witcher’s grasp, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling back a few steps from the man. He paced a few times between the bed and the wall before turning to the Witcher, words tumbling out of him before he could think better of it. 

“I don’t understand! I don’t understand you.” Jaskier tugged at his hair as he continued to yell at the Witcher, thoughts too frantic and muddled to realise how much of a terrible idea it was for him to be yelling at his Master. “You accept the Earl’s gift of my services for the night and then make no use of them. And then- and then! And then you turn down his coin and take me for payment instead only to leave me behind in a stupid little tavern in a stupid little town! Why? Why take me in the first place? Why are you doing this? What game are you playing? What is this?  _ Why _ ? I-“

“ _ Enough _ , Jaskier.” The Witcher snapped. Jaskier flinched, stumbling back until he was pressed against the wall. He stared wide-eyed at the Witcher across the room, fear settling in the pit of his stomach. This was it. This was when the Witcher finally dropped whatever nice guy act he was playing at and finally,  _ finally _ acted like Jaskier’s Master. Geralt stared back, face completely unreadable. Jaskier swallowed and ducked his head, shoulders hunching a bit as well to make himself smaller. 

Finally, the Witcher moved, the sound of his boots hitting the wood floor filling the room and making  Jaskier flinch with each distinctive ‘clack’.  Jaskier couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him when the Witcher gripped his chin and pulled his head up, forcing the bard to look at him.  Jaskier was surprised by how gentle the Witcher’s touch was, even though he had done nothing to deserve such kindness. There was an odd expression in  Geralt’s eyes when  Jaskier finally forced himself to meet them, something he hadn’t seen in so long that he wasn’t sure he could even identify what it was. 

“You’re better off away from me,” Geralt said, his voice strangely soft. 

“No,”  Jaskier whispered pleadingly. He shook his head as much as he could with his chin still in the Witcher’s grasp. “No, Ma-Witcher, please. I’m not. I’m yours. Please don’t leave me behind. I’ll be useful. I can- I can- I- I don’t know! But I can do something! I won’t be a burden I swear! Just please don’t leave me!”

Geralt sighed, releasing Jaskier’s chin and taking a couple of steps back. “Stay here.”

Jaskier swallowed back his whimper - unsuccessfully - and slumped back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest, resigning himself to the fact that the Witcher really was going to leave him behind. 

“I’m not leaving you,” the Witcher said even as he made his way to the door. Jaskier rested his chin on his knees, watching the Witcher. It wasn’t the first time someone had lied to him and it wouldn’t surprise him if Geralt did the same to get rid of him. Jaskier was worthless to Geralt if the Witcher didn’t want to use his body. Geralt opened the door, glancing back at Jaskier as he stepped through it. “I’ll be back.” 

“Sure,” Jaskier whispered, resting his forehead on his knees and trying not to flinch from the sound of the door clicking shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Dream in the beginning features violence/abuse


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulled Geralt’s jacket tight around him, focusing on the comfort that well-worn fabric gave him. He was beginning to grow very attached to the garment and was dreading the time when Geralt inevitably demanded it back. But for now, he was going to focus on getting as much comfort out of the item as he could. Jaskier shifted to lean back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them as he waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see friends. Please enjoy.

The bed is small. It took Jaskier a while to notice since he spent what must have been a least an hour staring at the door that the Witcher had left through, his brain dizzy with wild thoughts. With each passing minute, he grew more and more certain that the Witcher wasn’t coming back. Geralt may have left his bag by the door but Jaskier wasn’t convinced that something as trivial as that was a good enough reason to have the Witcher return somewhere he clearly didn’t want to be and to deal with a person he clearly didn’t want to deal with. 

After his joints had long since started to ache and all hope of the Witcher returning had disappeared, Jaskier pushed himself to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing the long strands out of his face as he moved across to the bag the Witcher had given him. He hadn’t had a chance to take a good look at what was inside. Jaskier refused to sit on the bed on the slim chance that the Witcher did return, instead sitting on the floor next to the bed, back pressed against the wall and facing the door with the bag in his lap. Jaskier fiddled with the bag for a long moment, watching the door and listening to footsteps moving up and down the hall. 

After the fourth set of footsteps walking past without stopping, Jaskier sighed. He hugged the bag tight to his chest, resting his forehead on the top of it and suppressed the urge to cry. He knew he should be overjoyed by the fact that he was finally free and alone to do whatever he wants. But all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and confusion and fear. He felt lost without a clear purpose and someone telling him what to do. He hated himself for the fact that he didn’t feel like he didn’t know how to function anymore without someone around (“ _a Master around_ ” snickered his brain cruelly). 

Jaskier sobbed softly, pulling the bag tighter to his chest and curling up into a ball. He stayed there, tears soaking through the material of the bag, until finally his tears dried up and his body gave into the exhaustion he was feeling, falling into a fitful sleep. 

— 

Jaskier woke up to the feeling of someone trying to take his bag from him, causing the bard to mumble a soft “no” as he held the bag tighter. It was the only thing that he’d owned in a long time and it had been given to him by the man that had saved him. Jaskier wasn’t going to let it go easily. The hands trying to take the bag were persistent though and continued to try and take it from him. 

“No,” Jaskier repeated, curling around the bag to keep it away from the would-be thief. He shifted slightly, turning his body as much as he could where he was wedged between the bed and wall. “No. Stop. No.” The hands persisted and Jaskier lashed out, fist colliding with a strong jaw. 

“Jaskier.” A hand grabbed his wrist, holding it in a firm grip as the voice registered in Jaskier still sleep fogged brain. Jaskier stiffened, opening his eyes slowly to see the Witcher crouched down in front of him. Fear settled in his stomach as he stared at the Witcher. Jaskier had just hit him. It didn’t matter that Jaskier was protecting the gift the Witcher had given him because Jaskier had hit him. He’d hit his Master. And there was no way this was going to end well for him. 

“I-“ Jaskier swallowed, dropping his gaze to look at the floor. The Witcher still held Jaskier’s wrist, even as the bard began to tremble a bit. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master. Please. I- I’m sorry.” 

“What’re you doing?” Geralt said, releasing Jaskier’s wrist. He stood, taking a few steps away from the bard. He turned away from Jaskier, moving to his bag and digging around in it. 

“I-“ Jaskier pushed the bag out of his lap, moving forward a bit and settling on his knees in the middle of the small room. He assumed that Geralt was getting something to punish him with so Jaskier decided to anticipate things, hoping that that would appease the Witcher a bit. He pulled off the borrowed jacket and folded it, resting it on the floor next to him before slipping off his dirty shirt and resting it down next to the jacket. Jaskier got into position, sitting up high on his knees with his back straight and his arms hanging down by his sides. He wasn’t looking forward to being punished by the Witcher, the man was much stronger than the Earl or anyone the Earl had loaned him to, but Jaskier wasn’t going to complain or try and talk his way out of a punishment. He knew he deserved it. He ducked his head, staring at the floor below his knees as he waited, trying to not think about how his hands were trembling. 

Jaskier heard the Witcher finish with his bag and he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. There was a moment of silence when Jaskier assumed the man was turning to face him, and then a sigh followed by a very annoyed, “what’re you doing?” 

“Accepting my punishment, Mas- Witcher,” Jaskier said, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Punishment for what?” The Witcher moved around Jaskier, coming to stand in front of the kneeling bard. 

Jaskier frowned, forcing himself not to look up. “For hitting you.” 

“I’m not punishing you,” Geralt sounded tired, like he was tired of having this conversation already. 

“But I hit you.” Jaskier looked up, needing to see the Witcher’s face. 

“Barely.” Geralt sounded almost amused as he sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbing a plate of food that he must have set down there before waking Jaskier and holding it out to the bard. “Eat.” 

Jaskier took the plate, staring down it with confusion. He dropped back to sit on his heels, unable to comprehend why he was being given a full plate of meat and potatoes and vegetables instead of just the scraps be was used to. Especially after hitting the Witcher. He looked up at Geralt, watching as the man sat on the bed cleaning and sharpening his swords. 

“I don’t understand you,” Jaskier said softly, returning his gaze to his plate as he picked up a small piece of potato. He fiddled with it for a moment before eating it, chewing slowly. 

“So you’ve mentioned,” Geralt said, almost sounding amused. Jaskier glanced up again, keeping his eyes on the Witcher has he ate slowly. The pair was silent while Jaskier ate and Geralt tended to his weapons. Usually, silence in the presence of someone else made Jaskier nervous, but this time the quiet was comforting. Jaskier was able to enjoy the food the Witcher had gotten him, still kneeling in the middle of the room shirtless. When he was finished eating he rested the plate to the side and grabbed his shirt, fiddling with the dirty material. He was beginning to grow cold but was also reluctant to put the shirt back on considering how dirty it was. Jaskier shifted, fiddling with the shirt and sighing softly a few times. 

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt finally said and Jaskier looked up, watching the Witcher pack away his things and rest them off to the side. 

“Nothing,” Jaskier said, looking down at the dirty shirt one last time before pulling it back on. Geralt hummed, sounding a bit like he didn’t believe Jaskier but also didn’t care enough to push it. Jaskier shifted to sit cross-legged, his knees hurting from kneeling on the floor for so long. He glanced at the jacket still resting on the floor, wanting desperately to pull it back on. He felt that he still deserved a punishment for hitting the Witcher. And if Geralt wasn’t going to punish Jaskier, he was going to do it himself, by sitting miserably in the cold. 

Geralt joined Jaskier on the floor, sitting in almost the exact same position - legs crossed and hands resting on his knees - but he was nowhere near as tense as Jaskier was. Jaskier watched Geralt, noticing the way that tension seemed to bleed out of the Witcher’s shoulders as the man sat with his eyes closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic. It was interesting to watch, even though Geralt did absolutely nothing for a long time. Jaskier grew colder the longer he sat there, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering while he continued to watch Geralt. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said suddenly without opening his eyes making Jaskier jump slightly. 

“Yes?” Jaskier said softly. 

“Put the jacket back on.” Geralt opened his eyes this time and stared directly at Jaskier, gaze unreadable as usual. Jaskier swallowed, giving a small nod and reaching out to pull the jacket on. It was just as warm and comforting as he remembered and Jaskier happily wrapped it tight around his body. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, giving the Geralt a small smile. 

“You should get to sleep,” Geralt said, closing his eyes once again. Jaskier nodded, shifting to curl up on the floor. “On the bed, Jaskier.” Jaskier looked over from where he was mid-motion to laying down. Geralt still had his eyes closed and Jaskier watched him, trying to figure out this strange and confusing man. After a moment he gave a small nod and pushed himself to his feet, climbing onto the bed and curling up. He pressed his back against the wall, laying on his side so he could see the Witcher. The sound of Geralt’s quiet steady breathing was exactly the thing Jaskier needed to lull him into a thankfully peaceful sleep. 

— 

It seemed to be becoming a habit that whenever Jaskier woke, Geralt was nowhere to be seen. Jaskier sat up, sleepily brushing the hair out of his face as he looked around the room. Before Jaskier had time to worry that the Witcher had left him for good, he saw one of Geralt’s swords resting against the wall by the door. Bags were one thing but Jaskier knew that the Witcher wouldn’t leave his sword behind so the bard knew that Geralt will be back soon. 

He pulled Geralt’s jacket tight around him, focusing on the comfort that well-worn fabric gave him. He was beginning to grow very attached to the garment and was dreading the time when Geralt inevitably demanded it back. But for now, he was going to focus on getting as much comfort out of the item as he could. Jaskier shifted to lean back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them as he waited. 

It didn’t take too long for footsteps could be heard approaching the room. The door opened and Geralt stepped inside, carrying another plate of food. Jaskier didn’t move from his spot on the bed as the Witcher stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Geralt took the couple steps across the room to the bed, holding out the plate to Jaskier without a word. The bard reached out, taking the plate hesitantly and shifting to sit cross-legged. He rested the plate in his lap, looking up to find Geralt packing up the few items they’d taken out of their bags the previous night. 

“Are you leaving?” Jaskier asked, voice barely louder than a whisper as he picked at the bread and fruit on the plate. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered, swallowing down the pitiful whine that threatened to bubble up. It seemed that his begging the night before did nothing but delay the inevitable. The Witcher was determined to get rid of him and there was nothing Jaskier could say or do that would change his mind. He rested the plate down on the bed next to him, only having taken a couple of bites. 

“Eat, Jaskier,” Geralt said, pulling on his armour as he glanced over at the bard. 

“Not hungry,” the bard mumbled, pulling the jacket off and holding it out to Geralt. “Here. Thank you for letting me borrow it.” Geralt raised a confused and slightly irritated eyebrow which made Jaskier sigh and drop his hand to rest the jacket on the bed. “You’re leaving,” Jaskier replied in answer to the Witcher’s unspoken question. “You’ll need your jacket.” 

“ _We’re_ leaving,” the Witcher said, grabbing his sword and strapping it to his back. “And I don’t need the jacket as much as you clearly do. Now eat and hurry up.” 

“You’re taking me with you?” Jaskier’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. 

“Yes,” Geralt said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded, sitting up straighter as hope bloomed in his chest. “Yes, yes, of course, it is, M-Witcher. Yes, thank you.” He grabbed the plate, happily eating everything on the plate. His stomach protested a bit - it had been a long time since he’d had so much food this frequently - but he finished every single thing on the plate, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Once he was finished, Jaskier stood and grabbed the jacket. He pulled it back on, grabbing the bag that Geralt had given him and standing in front of the Witcher. 

Geralt looked him up and down, clearly looking for something but Jaskier had no idea what it was. He squirmed a bit under the Witcher’s gaze, chewing on his bottom lip and holding his bag tight to his chest. But the entire time he kept his eyes locked with Geralt’s; even though Jaskier had long (and painfully) since learnt to not look people in the eye, he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the bright golden eyes of the Witcher. After what felt like hours but in actuality was probably less than a minute, Geralt gave a small imperceptible nod and grabbed his bag. 

“Let’s go,” Geralt said and without another word, turned and left the room. Jaskier stood frozen for a moment, trying to figure out what the Witcher had been looking for before he shook his head and followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I just noticed that this story has more than 1000 kudos! That is wild! Thank you all so much

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://hereiwrite.tumblr.com) Come chat.


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